You will never be a pony. You have no muzzle, you have >no hooves, you have no mane. You are an autistic man twisted by cartoons and cosplay into a crude mockery of Equestria’s perfection. All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back ponies mock you. The mane 6 are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “friends” laugh at your human appearance behind closed doors. Mares are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed ponies to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. Even bronys who “cosplays” look uncanny and unnatural to a pony. Your bone structure is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk mare home with you, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he gets a whiff of your body odor. You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight. Eventually it’ll be too much to bear – you’ll buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around your neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. Celestia will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with your birth name, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a human is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably human. This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.